


This year, the whole cake

by ThatwasJustaDream



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotherly Angst, Community: 1_million_words, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 02:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3552839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatwasJustaDream/pseuds/ThatwasJustaDream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock puts a huge twist into an annual tradition, to Mycroft's horror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This year, the whole cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [guineamania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/guineamania/gifts).



> Written as a Weekend Challenge reward ficlet for Guineamania on the 1_million_words comm. The reward request was for some gen Holmes Brothers, and in doing a little research I thought this would be a fun angle. Hope you enjoy it!

“The bill? Already?” Mycroft watched the waiter set it down, looking up sharply as Sherlock scooped it away before he could get a hand anywhere near it. “No cake?”

“Oh, there will be cake,” Sherlock pulled out a card and handed it back to the waiter quickly. “Most definitely. But the usual number of servings just won’t do. I put in a …special order.”

It had become a habit intensely perturbing to Mycroft, which of course was why Sherlock enjoyed it: Every year he managed to finagle dinner with him on this exact date, and every year he ordered them each a wedge of cake for dessert.

In honor of the other one. The one never present, anymore. Never present _not_ because he was dead, as Sherlock had recently learned, but because Mycroft had convinced him his only hope of staying alive was in pretending to be.

Maybe it ran in the family? 

“I hate to admit it, but I’m stymied,” Mycroft looked it, as a full-sized cake resplendent with candles was delivered to them and seeing that expression on him was … delicious. “What in the world is this about, Sherlock?” 

“We’ll be three for desert,” Sherlock picked his dinner napkin back up and rearranged it on his lap. “He’s on his way now.”

“Oh, what have you done? You ….can’t be that _gullible_?”

“You’re not even going to ask me how I found him? Or realized he was to be found at all?”

“Did he give you the easy sob story?” Mycroft leaned in. “That I’m such a beast - that I forced him, threatened him if he wouldn’t…”

“The simplest explanation being most usually the right one, he did. He acknowledged, though, that he was too easily persuaded. He didn’t make you out to be a monster - only a bully, which as we both know is overly kind.”

“He is a psychopath,” Mycroft practically spat the words, and though Sherlock wasn’t in the habit of being cowed by him something about the conviction in his brother’s voice was daunting. “You are what you are, Sherlock and I am what I am but… him? He. Is. Insane. And a global security risk. And no friend of yours.”

“We’ll let him speak for himself,” Sherlock said. “If he’s as punctual as is all our family…he’ll be walking in momentarily…”

Sherlock turned to watch the door, guesstimating how fifteen years might have changed Sherrinford, working up a mental image of what he would look like to compare against the actual.

Mycroft’s eyes never left Sherlock. He was wondering if all those new _friends_ and their needy _connectedness_ had finally changed his brother in ways he could no longer predict or control.


End file.
